And fairy forests fringed the evening sky."—Rogers.
"And such thy strength-inspiring aid, that bore
The hardy Byron to his native shore,—
In horrid climes where Chiloe's tempests sweep
Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep,
'Twas his to mourn misfortune's rudest shock,
Scourged by the winds, and cradled on the rock,
To wake each joyless morn and search again
The famished haunts of solitary men;
Whose race, unyielding as their native storm,